Last Words
by Eden Ann Stark
Summary: Booth will finally read Brennan's letter.
1. Chapter 1

AN: No notes this time.

* * *

Chapter 1

Booth frantically rushed into the ER. He'd received calls from the police and the hospital, but neither had had very much information. He only knew that Brennan had been shot at her apartment. And he couldn't help but fear for the worst.

"What's going on?" Booth shouted at the doctors and nurses that were rushing Brennan down the hall.

One of the doctors stopped, and moved towards him as Brennan was wheeled out of sight.

"Are you Seeley Booth?" she asked.

Her sympathetic tone did nothing to ease his worry-based anger.

"Yes," he snapped. "What's going on?"

Cam quietly told Booth to calm down, but the doctor hadn't seemed to be affected by his tone in the slightest. Booth's eyes shifted over to Cam and the other squints; he hadn't realized they were there.

"Dr. Brennan was shot in the chest and the abdomen; she's going into surgery now," the doctor finally answered his question.

"Is she going to be okay?"

The doctor hesitated for a short moment; the question had unsettled her.

"We're not sure about the extent of the damage caused by the bullets, and she's lost a lot of blood, Mr. Booth. We're hopeful the surgery will be successful."

"Hopeful?" Booth's voice cracked, and he brought his hands to his face.

The doctor glanced over at Cam.

"We can handle it from here," Cam answered her non-verbal question.

She nodded her thanks, and rushed down the hall to most likely assist with Brennan's surgery.

Booth sunk down into a nearby chair, his head still in his hands. The squints came over and sat down next to him. Everyone wanted to say something to comfort everyone else, but no one had any words that would wipe away the absolute terror they were feeling.

Booth's ringing phone interrupted the dreadful silence that had settled in after the doctor had left, but Booth made no motion to answer it. He didn't even give any indication that he had even heard it.

"Seeley, your phone," Cam said quietly.

"Booth," he croaked out.

"I need to stay here. I'm not going down to-" Booth started after a moment, but whoever was on the end of the other line interrupted him. "I'll be right there."

Booth rushed out of the ER; he said nothing about where he was going or why. The others were left wondering what could possibly have pulled Booth away from Brennan when she was fighting for her life.

* * *

Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Okay, we're going to assume that quite a bit of time passed between the time when Brennan was wheeled into surgery, and when Booth received that phone call. Not like ten or twelve hours, just more than you might have originally perceived. God, this will be the last time I post chapters before the entire story is finished.

* * *

Chapter 2

Sweets had called him with information about the case. He'd said that the forensic team found two bullets, and they had sent them to the FBI lab before completing the initial investigation of Brennan's apartment. Several of the scientists working the scene were familiar with Booth and Brennan, and they'd known Booth would want results as soon as possible. So those bullets had taken priority, and ballistics found a match. But that hadn't been what prompted Booth to leave the hospital. It had been the name of the person who owned the gun.

It didn't take Booth long to reach the Hoover building, and he moved as fast in the building as he had in the hospital. This time, though, Booth was motivated by anger and not worry. He needed to know what the hell was going on.

Sweets met Booth shortly after he arrived, and was forced to jog in order to keep up with Booth.

"Where is he?"

"Agent Harrison and Agent Falacci are bringing him in now. How is Dr. Brennan?"

"She's in surgery."

With that, the stressed agent rushed ahead to wait near the interrogation rooms, leaving Sweets behind.

Booth was waiting for twenty minutes before his fellow agents arrived with his brother. He hadn't seen this time as an opportunity to attempt to calm down, he'd spent those twenty minutes stewing. The agent was practically a ticking time bomb.

When Harrison and Falacci finally reached the interrogation rooms, the angry ex-sniper fixed Jared Booth with a gaze that would have most men shaking in their boots. It was unlikely that his brother even noticed; he was clearly hung over. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was clutching his head in agony. The agents were forcefully leading him because of his shuffling gait.

Agent Harrison led the younger brother into the room, and Booth turned to Agent Falacci.

"I'll handle this."

"He's your brother," she said, meeting his gaze head on.

"Which is why I'm handling it."

"The fact he's brother is why you shouldn't be handling it!"

The two agents stared each other down. After what felt like several minutes, the other agent finally relented.

"Fine, but we," she motioned towards her partner. "Will be on the other side. And you will be removed if need be."

Booth brushed past the two, and stood on the opposite side of the table. Jared was cradling his head in his hands, and Booth slammed his hand down on the table.

"Easy!" Jared exclaimed. "Why am I even here?"

"Bones was shot today with your gun."

"I didn't shoot her! I'm not a killer!" he yelled, shocked and angry that his brother thought he would do something like that.

"I know you didn't shoot her, and she's not dead," Booth growled out. "But you are a drunk. What'd you do last night? Give your gun to some loser?"

"I'd never do that!"

"Then how did someone get your weapon?"

"I don't know!" Jared snapped. "I don't even remember what happened last night."

"Jesus Christ, Jared."

Booth ran a hand through his hair, and eyed his brother.

"What happened to your head?" Booth questioned.

"I'm hung over," Jared shot back, still clutching his head.

Booth ripped his brother's hand away from his head.

"You're not just hung over."

Jared's right temple was slightly swollen, and a large contusion was beginning to form. His drinking wasn't the only reason he couldn't remember what he'd done last night.

Booth left the interrogation room, and met the other agents on the other side.

"Try to find out where he went last night and what he did. I'm going back to the hospital. Call me if you find anything."

Falacci glared at him. This wasn't Booth's case, and she was territorial. She was about to tell Booth to back off when her partner placed his hand on her shoulder.

"We'll take care of it, Booth," Harrison replied in his low, soothing voice.

Booth muttered a quick thank you, and left the room. He had almost made his way out of the building when he heard someone calling his name. He stopped, and turned, ready to send whoever was preventing him from leaving running for the hills.

"Ah, Agent Booth, I thought I was going to miss you."

Booth's expression softened marginally. It was one of the older members of the forensics team, and the oldest scientist that still went out into the field. She was also the motherly figure of the FBI's homicide department.

"I found this in Dr. Brennan's apartment. I doubt it's related to this case, but I think you should take a look at it," she said as she handed Booth a small sheet of paper.

Booth glanced at it, and when he realized what it must be, he tried to shove it back into the hands of the forensic scientist.

"I don't need to read this. She's not going to-"

"Agent Booth," she spoke softly. "Dr. Brennan wrote this for you. She would want you to read it."

Booth looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he held onto the paper, and left FBI headquarters. He needed to get back to the hospital.

* * *

Thoughts?

2nd AN: A lot of people thought it was related to Parker, so I hope this was at least a little surprising. I don't know a lot about the military, but I'm assuming they issue out firearms. Hopefully, I don't get made into an ass. :) It might be a while before the next chapter is posted. Sorry! I have some papers to write for school, and I really need to make that a priority. I'll try to have it up as soon as possible.

Oh, and Falacci is an allusion to a past character on L&O: CI, but not the same character.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I really did not want to write this; I've been putting it off for a long time, mainly because of the letter. I don't want to disappoint anyone. I could of written around actually having to write the letter, but I thought that'd be very un-classy. So I hope you like this. Or at least don't hate it. Let me know if there are any mistakes. It's 2:30 in the morning, and I don't want to proofread.

* * *

Chapter 3

Booth sat in the hospital's church, clutching a piece of paper that had been ripped from a very familiar book. He hadn't been given a lot of information by the hospital staff about Brennan's condition. The only thing he'd be told was that they were doing the best they could.

The agent ran a hand over his face, and looked down at the somewhat crumpled page. He didn't want to read it, and ever since he'd sat down in the church, Booth had kept reading and re-reading the typed words on the other side. Despite his attempts to avoid reading the note addressed to him, there was an insuppressible side of him that forced his eyes towards the paper.

_Booth_

_I – we were able to extend our air supply, but we can't last much longer. We've managed to construct a bomb using the air bag, so we can blast ourselves out. You probably wouldn't approve; it could kill us._

_I just want you to know that I – I'm glad we were partners. You've helped me a lot, Booth . . . I don't know what to say; you're the one that helps me with these kinds of things._

_I – Th – Tell everyone that I love them, and I know they did their best; tell them to not be irrational. I know you'll find us, Booth, even if we won't be alive. _

_Thank you, for everything._

_Bones_

He continued to stare down at Brennan's handwriting, remembering how close he'd come to losing her.

"Booth?"

The apprehensive man didn't answer Angela, but he folded away Brennan's almost last words when he heard her footsteps grow closer.

"Booth?" she hesitantly asked again. "Brennan made it; she's out of surgery now.

His dark eyes looked up immediately.

"Where is she?"

"She's in room 223, but she's not awake yet."

Booth rushed out of the church after Angela told him the room number. It only took him a few minutes to reach her room, and relief washed over him when he saw the faint rise and fall of her chest. He sat down in the chair next to her bed, and grasped her hand. Angela came into the room shortly after him.

"What happened?"

"The doctors said one of the bullets went through her left lung, and the other grazed her left side. They were able to repair all of the tissue," Angela answered. "Everyone else is back at the lab; we've been coming here in shifts."

The two were silent for a while before Angela slipped out of the room, sensing that Booth wanted to be alone. He sat by Brennan, rubbing circles on her hand with his thumb, for a long time before she woke up.

"Hey, Bones."

Brennan drowsily muttered an unintelligible response as she pulled her gown slightly to the left to look at her bandage.

"How are you feeling?"

"Booth, what are – did you get the guy?"

"No we haven't found him yet, you remember what he looked like? Never mind, it can wait. You just got shot, and you're full of drugs."

"I'm fine," Brennan sharply replied, but the fatigue evident in her voice took the edge off.

"No your not," Booth shot back automatically before answering his phone. "Booth."

He listened intently to the person on the other line, but he kept his responses succinct because Brennan was eavesdropping.

"Was that about the shooter?" she asked, stubbornly trying to fight off her tiredness.

"You need to rest, Bones. Go back to sleep."

The hospitalized forensic anthropologist briefly looked as if she was going to fight her partner's recommendation before giving in to sleep. Once she was asleep, he stepped outside of her room, and pulled out his phone.

"Harrison, have you found him yet?"

"No were still looking. I'll make sure to call you when we bring him in."

"Good. I want to be the one the question the son of a bitch," Booth told the other agent before hanging up, and walking back into Brennan's room.

In an SUV about five miles away, Agent Harrison contemplated how he was going to tell his partner that she wasn't going to be interrogating anyone today. He quickly came to the conclusion that no matter how he tried to sugar coat it, Falacci was going to be pissed.

* * *

Thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hope you like it. Please let me know about any mistakes.

* * *

Chapter 4

"Booth, tell me what's going on," Brennan commanded.

"You don't need to worry about it, Bones. Just rest," Booth argued.

"I've been resting for over a day," she retorted. "He shot me; I deserve to know."

Booth sighed before reluctantly conceding.

"The two agents working the case found the bar Jared was drinking at; the bartender said that he was drunk, and waving his gun around. He was forced to leave. An addict witnessed Jared leave the bar. He said a blonde man with a bat attacked him. The addict couldn't give a description, but he saw the attacker take the gun – "

"Do you need a physical description? I remember his appearance quite clearly now that the drugs have worn off," Brennan interrupted.

"No, the forensics team found his blood at your apart – at the scene. He was in the system; Harrison and Falacci are tracking him down now," Booth finished.

"What was his name?"

"Carl Warner, why?"

"When he walked up to me, he asked if I knew who he was. After I told him I didn't, he became very belligerent, and yelled that I'd killed his brother."

"And what happened after that?" Booth asked, but it seemed as though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"He came at me, and our struggle broke down the door to my apartment. The fight continued on the floor before I broke his nose. He went down, and I tried to reach for my phone. He pulled out the gun, but the shot was just a flesh wound. He shot me again, and he didn't miss that time. When I fell, he walked over, and stood over me . . ." Brennan paused, remembering the absolute fury that had been present on her attacker's bloody face.

"Bones, you don't have to – "

"He stood over me, and said I was going to die for what I did to his family. He pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed. There was a . . . voice, and he took off. I can't remember anything after that."

"The voice was your neighbor. She's the one that found you, and called 911. She didn't get a look at your attacker though," Booth responded, struggling to keep his voice level as he thought about where he would be if that gun hadn't jammed.

The two sank into a comfortable silence and shared a pudding as they waited for Brennan's doctor to give her a final checkup so she could leave. Once the doctor and a nurse came in, Booth stood outside her room to give her some privacy. The nurse changed her bandages, and put her left arm into a sling. The doctor gave her prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers before instructing her on how she should care for her wounds, which was conversation that thoroughly annoyed Brennan. Once the doctor and nurse left, she changed into the clothes Angela had brought for her.

"Okay, Bones, we should probably go pick up your pills," Booth said as he placed his hand on her lower back.

Brennan nodded an affirmative, and Booth drove them to her pharmacy. She gave the pharmacist her prescriptions, and gingerly sat down next to Booth to wait for them.

"I remembered who Carl Warner's brother was; it's a case from about six years ago. He murdered his girlfriend, and my testimony put him away. He got the death penalty. Their mother ended up committing suicide."

"Six years ago? That was about a year before we first met," Booth reminded her, changing to subject to something other than Carl Warner.

"I remember; we weren't a very good team back then."

"No we weren't," he agreed, laughing.

"There's something I've got to tell you," Booth started, reaching into his jacket for the note.

"Booth! That's him!" Brennan exclaimed, pointing across the store to a man that had just exited the medical supplies aisle.

The agent hastily stood and headed towards his partner's would-be killer after telling to say put. Once he saw Booth coming towards him, Warner ran. Booth sprinted after him, taking his gun out along the way, and Brennan dashed out of the store after them.

Warner was widening the distance between him and his pursuers, but he took a turn into a dead end alley. He frantically searched for a way out, but there wasn't one. Booth caught up to him, and Warner pulled out the stolen gun, fear evident on his face. That fear morphed into rage when Brennan came around the corner.

"That bitch is still alive?!" he roared as he pointed the gun at her, and tightened his finger over the trigger.

Booth shot and killed him before he could pull the trigger. He holstered his weapon, and took out his phone. Harrison, Falacci, and an ambulance arrived shortly thereafter. Falacci and Booth had a terse conversation, she was still a little irritated about his involvement, while Harrison bagged the gun, and the EMTs bagged Carl. The other two agents were pulling away when Booth noticed the spots of blood on the forensic anthropologist's shirt.

"Bones, you're bleeding!"

Brennan lifted up her shirt to inspect the wound. It appeared as though some of her stitches had torn during the chase, and blood was seeping through her bandage. She walked over to the ambulance to see if the EMTs could stitch her up again, but Booth stood transfixed. It had been the first time he had seen any of her injuries other than the minor cuts and bruises on her arms and face. He caught a glimpse of a large contusion on her right side from breaking through her door. Then the EMTs pulled off the bandage to reveal the injury from the first bullet. It was wide and bleeding profusely now that there wasn't anything to hinder the flow. After they had re-bandaged the laceration, Booth and Brennan walked back to the pharmacy, and paid for her prescriptions and bandages.

"I need to go home."

"You can't stay at your apartment, Bones."

"I know, but I'm going to need to get some clothes."

"I'm sorry, Booth," Brennan said after getting into the SUV.

"It's okay," Booth paused before continuing. "He was trying to kill you."

It only took them around fifteen minutes to reach her apartment, and the driver of the car braced himself for what he was about to see.

"You sure you want to go in?" he questioned.

"It would be irrational to avoid going to my apartment just because I got shot here," Brennan remarked, heading towards her building.

"It wouldn't be irrational," Booth muttered.

The walk from the parking lot to her apartment wasn't a long one, but there was plenty to see today. Once they were inside the building, the bloody footprints of her assailant and the medical personnel became obvious. Brennan automatically reached for her keys when they grew close to her door before remembering she wouldn't need them today.

Inside her home, the door had been shoved aside, most likely from the emergency medical technicians, and there were obvious indications of a struggle. There was broken glass from picture frames and a vase strewn across the floor, and the table those objects had sat on had been overturned. The worst evidence, however, was the large pool of blood located behind the couch. Brennan unflinchingly walked past it to her bedroom. She came out a few minutes later with a small duffel bag, and the partners left.

"You can take me to the Jeffersonian now."

"What? You can stay at my place, and it's too late for work," Booth informed her while waving his hand at the dark sky to emphasize his point.

"You don't need to watch over me. I'm not an invalid."

"Just humor me, Bones."

Brennan let out a soft sigh as a sign of defeat; a wide grin spread across Booth's face as he drove them to his apartment. After they'd reached their destination, he left to get some food while the injured doctor took a shower. Being clean made her feel slightly better, but even the hot water did nothing to ease her pain. When she exited the bathroom, Booth was already back. She took her pills then sat down to eat.

"Bones, there's something I've got to tell you," Booth told her after they were done eating.

"One of the forensic scientists found this, and gave it to me. I read it when you were still in surgery," he said quietly, handing her the folded up note.

She took the time to unfold the page despite the fact she already knew what it was and what it said.

"You read it?"

"Yeah, I did. I . . ." Booth trailed off, unable to find the words to explain what he felt reading that note.

She was quiet after that, and Booth could see her mind working, trying to explain the situation rationally.

"You reading this is only logical; it's addressed to you, and given the content, the situation was appropriate. It's also logical that you're feeling guilty about it."

"I don't feel guilty about it, Bones. I just wanted you to know I read it. I want to tell you that I'm glad were partners too, that I should be thanking you for everything you've helped me with, and I'll always be there to find you," Booth finished.

Brennan wrapped her good arm around his neck and murmured a thank you. She was about to pull away when everything caught up to her, and she tightened her hold on Booth. The gamut of emotions and sensations she had felt when she was buried alive and when she was lying on the floor of her apartment, slowing dying, all came at her at once. Booth massaged her lower back, carefully avoiding her injuries. Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way, and eventually, Brennan fell asleep leaning against her partner. Booth continued rubbing her back well after she had fallen asleep; unable to let go of the woman he had almost lost.

* * *

AN: OK, so I thought about making this the conclusion, but I'm not going to. It's a good chapter, not a good ending. There's too many loose ends.

Thoughts?


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Sorry for the wait, and thank you very much for all the reviews! This is the last chapter. I really hope it lives up to your expectations. Let me know if you find any mistakes; I was too anxious to read through it objectively and calmly.

* * *

Chapter 5

The next morning wasn't as awkward as Booth might have predicted; if he could have predicted that he and Brennan would sleep together on the couch all night. Actually, as they got ready for work that day, a little late, it felt natural; like this was something they did everyday. Angela or Sweets would have picked up on that immediately, but the partners didn't notice. Of course, even if they had, it would have been attributed to their great working relationship, not their mutual attraction.

"Booth, let's go. We're already late."

"I'm coming, Bones," he responded, snapping the lid on his thermos of coffee. "You shouldn't even be going into work."

"Why not?" she asked as they walked out the front door together.

"Because you just got shot, and you only have one good arm."

"That's irrelevant; I'm perfectly capable of working," Brennan argued.

"Well, you're not going out into the field like this," Booth informed her.

"What? That's ridiculous, Booth. Why can't I go out into the field?"

"Injured agents don't go out into the field, so you're not."

"You do," she countered as she got into the SUV.

"Those are emergencies, Bones."

"What if there's an emergency?"

"There won't be; we don't have a case. I won't be out in the field," Booth remarked, pulling out into traffic from his building's parking lot.

They were almost to the Jeffersonian when Brennan spoke up again.

"What's going to happen to Jared?"

" . . . He called me last night when I was getting the food. He's being court-martialed," he told her. "I don't know what's going to happen to him; at the very least he'll be demoted. He's quite an asset to the military."

They arrived at the medico-legal lab shortly thereafter, and Booth, dismissing his partner's protestations, walked her into the building. He insisted upon walking her all the way up to her office before leaving to head to the FBI. The two said their goodbyes, and the forensic anthropologist started in on some paperwork. It didn't take very long, she didn't procrastinate like Booth, and she was about to head down to limbo when Angela ran into her.

"Hey sweetie, you're here late," she greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"I stayed at Booth's, and we forgot to set an alarm. I'm fine."

"You spent the night at Booth's huh? Anything happen?" she asked, grinning.

"We slept together."

"What?" Angela said immediately, stopping in her tracks. "You slept with Booth?!"

Brennan looked puzzled by her friend's reaction, "Yes, on the couch."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How was it Bren?"

"Fine. He kept waking me up with his snoring though."

"Oh, you meant that you guys _slept_ together."

"What else would I have meant?"

The two friends talked idly as Angela accompanied her down to limbo. Brennan grabbed a box, but there were very few bones inside. As a result, she spent most of the day trying to get an ID, but was unable to obtain any other information other than the woman had lived during the 1200's in Pennsylvania. She had already started on another set of remains when Booth joined her near the examination tables; he practically ordered her to stop working. The partners left, ignoring Angela's playful, knowing smile, and headed to the diner to get something to eat. They were waiting for their food when Brennan brought up something that Booth didn't really want to talk about.

"I need to clean up my apartment; it's been released hasn't it?"

"Yeah, it's no longer a crime scene," Booth affirmed.

The arrival of their food ended that conversation, and their discussion shifted to lighter subjects as they ate. Booth talked about his day, an apparently endless supply of forms and records to be filled out, and Parker. Brennan told him about the remains she examined, a botched experiment by Hodgins and Wendel, and of course, her conversation with Angela, which made Booth uncomfortable. The agent and the scientist finished their meals, and bickered over pie before leaving the more pleasant topics behind as they headed to Brennan's apartment.

The drive didn't take long, and as they walked to her home from the car, they noticed that someone must have mopped up the bloody footprints from Warner and the EMTs. The crime scene tape was gone, but that was the only thing different about the place. Everything else remained untouched, especially the thing Booth was dreading seeing, the blood pool.

"I hope nothing's stolen," he said.

"I asked one of my neighbors to keep an eye on it for me. Nothing's gone," she answered, picking the broken glass off the floor, and throwing it in the trash. "I'm not going to be able to get dried blood off that rug, will you help me move the couch?"

The couch was moved, and Brennan rolled up the rug, enjoying the fact that the blood hadn't soaked through onto the floor.

"Look, Bones . . ." he started. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"What? Booth, my getting shot wasn't your fault," she told him, placing the rolled up rug against the wall. "It had nothing to do with you; you shouldn't be feeling guilty."

"It was my brother's gun – "

"Warner most likely didn't know who Jared was. It was crime of opportunity; he probably would've tried to kill me even if he didn't have his gun."

"I should have been there to protect you," he insisted, eyes dark with emotion.

"Your over-protectiveness is unnecessary, Booth, and you can't always be with me."

Booth moved close to her, his eyes boring into hers, "I _can_. All you have to do is say so."

"Booth, I . . ." she trailed off, unsure of what to say, and why she suddenly was unable to move.

"Temperance," he breathed, moving even closer. "I want to be with you; tell me what you want."

Her partner was putting himself out there, five years of tension and attraction had cumulated to this moment, and she couldn't answer him.

She was afraid.

Afraid of what she was feeling, afraid making that leap, even though it was with the person she trusted most.

"Please," he pleaded.

Brennan's mind was working fervently, desperately trying to find an answer for something that couldn't be simplified down to a cold, scientific explanation. She tore eyes away from his, but didn't move away.

Like an epiphany, she came to conclusion that they would never be the same if she denied what was obvious to everyone but her. They might still be partners, but that's all they would be. The aspect of their relationship that made them more than colleagues would be gone. Could she really live without Booth? He had become ingrained in every facet of her life.

No. She couldn't.

She met his eyes again, trying to quell her fear, "I . . ."

"It's okay," he said, brushing a lock of hair out of her face before beginning to move away.

Brennan grabbed his hand with her good arm, "No, I – I want you there, beside me."

It felt as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders, and they couldn't help but smile, relieved. Booth brought his forehead down to hers, and placed a hand on her lower back to carefully pull her to him. She wrapped her uninjured arm around his neck, and the two finally kissed without the interference of their friends.

It didn't feel like anything else Brennan had ever felt before. Of course, she'd never been in love before.

* * *

AN: I hope everyone liked this, but if there are a bunch of you that thought this was a craptastic ending, I suppose I could try again. I'm hoping that's not the case though.

. . . Thoughts?


End file.
